Act I: Hannibal Comes!
by eponnia
Summary: After the gala in which Christine triumphs, productions of Chalumeau's Hannibal begins. As Christine becomes the rising star of Paris, her Angel of Music will stop at nothing to ensure that his pupil becomes the prima donna of the Opéra Populaire. [First installment of the Three Acts series. ALW musicalverse based on Phantom 25. DISCONTINUED]
1. Chapter 1

Act I: Hannibal Comes!

Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back in the PotO fandom! I was originally inspired to write the Three Acts series by Ace of Gallifrey's **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**, in which the opera DJT finishes without interruption. Ace of Gallifrey has graciously allowed me to write my take on what could have happened if DJT the opera finished. I then decided not just to focus on DJT, but on **_**Hannibal**_** and **_**Il Muto**_** as well. These operas are rarely written about, so I decided to explore them and look closely at **_**Hannibal**_** and **_**Il Muto**_**. **

**History lesson for the day: **_**Hannibal**_** the opera (or at least the two scenes we see in PotO) is set in Carthage, Tunisia. Elissa (renamed Dido in Virgil's **_**Aeneid**_**, and also known as Alissar) found the city of Carthage. She was an exiled princess of Tyre, and ruled over 300 other cities in the Mediterranean. Her brother, King Pygmalion of Tyre, killed her husband, a high priest, who also happened to be her uncle. Pygmalion didn't want his uncle to get more powerful than he was, so he killed the priest and lied to Elissa about her husband's death. No wonder she left. **

**Most operas are in German, Italian, and French, and rarely are in English. For some reason, operas are rarely sung in the language of the country they are performing in. I know that Chalumeau (the "composer" of **_**Hannibal**_**) is a French name, but Mozart, an Austrian, wrote operas in Italian. Don't ask me why. So **_**Hannibal**_** could have been written by a Frenchman but sung in German. It happens. **

**For **_**Hannibal**_**, I have translated the lyrics into German. For **_**Il Muto**_**, I will translate the lyrics in Italian. And for those of you who don't speak German or Italian (like me), I put an English translation after the German or Italian, as the case may be. For those of you who **_**do**_** speak German or Italian, I didn't count out every beat or syllable, so it won't be a translation that works with the score. I merely put in the English lyrics into Google translate. **

**Sierra Boggess as Christine, Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom, Hadley Fraser as Raoul, Daisy Maywood as Meg, Liz Robertson as Madame Giry, Wendy Ferguson as Carlotta, Wynne Evans as Piangi, Gareth Snook as André, Barry James as Firmin, and Nick Holder as Buquet. **

* * *

"Christine."

"Yes, Angel?" Christine said, looking up. She held a ballet shoe in one hand, a needle and thread in the other. Her long, dark curls hung down her back, a golden headdress studded with false rubies and emeralds on her head. She wore the red and green slave girl costume, trimmed with gold braid, marking her as a chorus girl. Thin red and green ribbons fell from the gold belt at her waist, pooling around her ankles. She was unaware of the image she present to Erik, who stood behind the mirror of the chorus girls' dressing room. The slave girl costume fit her slender frame as if it had been made for her alone, instead of an entire ballet corps, accenting her lithe dancer form. He had to remind himself that to Christine, he was an angel, and celestial beings didn't feel like this towards humans.

"Christine," he said, throwing his voice to her ear as if he stood behind her, "remember everything I taught you."

"I know, Angel," she said. "But what chance do I have? Carlotta's not gong to suddenly croak onstage-"

"Trust your Angel," Erik said, fighting to keep frustration from his voice. "Remember, I will be watching over you, my Christine. You will make your debut, have no fear. Carlotta will soon be gone, and you will take her place as prima donna."

"How do you know? Carlotta isn't just going to pack up and leave," Christine said, finishing stitching her ballet shoe. As she cut the thread and put away the needle, a slender figure with golden curls burst through the door. As they were interrupted, Erik thought, _Today will be the final straw for Carlotta. And then you will shine onstage in her place. _

"Christine! Hurry! We'll be late for rehearsals!" Meg said. She wore a slave girl costume identical to the one Christine wore, her golden curls falling around her shoulders.

"Is it that time already?" Christine asked. She hastily tied her ballet shoes as Meg paced, eager to leave.

"Yes! Come on!" Meg said. Christine stood and clasped the other ballerina's hands.

"How do I look?" she asked.

Meg's brown eyes scanned her friend quickly. Christine stood a full head taller than Meg, but they were alike in personality and temperament; however, Meg tended to be more bold and adventurous than Christine. "You look fine," the ballerina said. "Let's go!" She pulled Christine out the door, but as they reached the doorway, Christine paused.

"Christine, come on!" Meg said, exasperated. Christine turned and ran out the door with Meg as the orchestra was heard tuning.

* * *

"Focus, girls!" Madame Giry ordered, banging her cane on the stage. Christine jumped slightly and continued dancing, trying to make her movements fluid. As the ballerinas crossed the stage, a dancer slammed into Christine, causing her to lose balance and nearly fall. "Daaé!" Madame Giry called out sharply. Turning red, Christine looked up to see Cecile Jammes watching her, a smug expression on her face. "Jammes, watch your steps!" the ballet instructor said to Cecile. Meg and Christine exchanged a smile, glad that the proud and haughty Cecile was reprimanded.

As the interlude for the ballet ended, the dancers knelt downstage. The stage began to shake, as if an enormous creature was backstage. "_Bieten Sie begrüßen zu Hannibals Gäste - die Elefanten von Karthago! Als Leitlinien für unsere erobern Gaeste, sendet Dido Hannibals Freunde!_" The full company sang, trying not to be affected by the movement of the stage. _Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests – the elephants of Carthage! As guides to our conquering quests, Dido sends Hannibal's friends!_ Carlotta and Piangi stepped forward. The stage shook, and Carlotta reached out to steady herself on Piangi.

An elephant walked slowly onstage, the animal wrangler leading it center stage. It wore an elaborate silk cloak, a huge leather saddle on its back. It swung its trunk, blinking slowly as chorus girls darted out of its path. "Girls! It's not going to bite!" Madame Giry said, but her words were lost on the ballerinas.

"_Einmal mehr, meine Arme_," Carlotta sang, her soprano filling the auditorium,_ "einladend meine Liebe zurück in Pracht!_" She began to sing a descant as Piangi stepped forward. _Once more to my welcoming arms, my love returns in splendor!_

Piangi began to sing. "_Einmal mehr für diejenigen süßesten Reize, mein Herz und meine Seele Kapitulation!_" He looked to Carlotta as the ballerinas hurried into formation. _Once more to those sweetest of charms, my heart and soul surrender!_

"_Die Elefanten trompeten klingen!_" the company sang as they tried not to get in the way of the elephant. "_Höre, Römer, und jetzt zittern! Horchen, um ihre Schritt auf dem Boden! Die Trommeln hören! Hannibal kommt!_" As they sang, Piangi was lifted onto the back of the elephant. _The trumpeting elephants sound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to their step on the ground! Hear the drums! Hannibal comes! _Carlotta knelt before the elephant, the ballerinas moving into their final positions as Piangi pulled out his dagger. The company held their positions for a moment, and then Reyer walked onstage. The company broke the formation as the elephant was led offstage, Piangi dismounting.

"Very good!" Reyer said, raising his voice. "We're doing that all again!" He ignored the sighs and groans of frustration. "Signor Piangi, you still need to work on that phrase," he continued. Piangi followed Reyer to the piano, and the music supervisor played the starting note. "Remember, Signor, we are in France, not Italy, and the lyrics are German!"

As Piangi rehearsed, so did the ballerinas. Madame Giry stopped every so often, banging her cane on the stage. She fixed minor details that the chorus girls were convinced she invented merely to humiliate them. As they practiced, three finely-dressed gentlemen came through the seats and to the stage. Christine recognized Lefèvre, the manager of the Opéra Populaire, but she did not know the other two.

As Lefèvre raised his hands for silence, the noise level on the stage rose. The ballerinas talked and laughed amongst themselves about handsome young patrons as the chorus complained about the length of rehearsals. Carlotta's voice rose above the din as she complained in Italian to Piangi. Exasperated, Lefèvre turned to the ballet instructor. "Madame Giry," he said. She banged her cane once on the stage, and the stage fell silent immediately. "Thank you," he said to Madame Giry. She nodded curtly as he continued.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said to the company, "I wish to congratulate-"

"Is it true you are retiring?"

* * *

Erik made his way through the passageways in the walls of the Opéra Populaire, passing the mirror leading to the chorus girls' dressing room. By replacing the glass in every room of the opera house, he was able to see into the rooms, but anyone inside the room would only see their own reflection in the glass. Erik made a mental note to move Christine's lessons to a private area. People were constantly coming in and out of the dressing room, making it nearly impossible to tutor Christine. Erik turned his attention to a latch in the wall of the passageway and lifted it.

The door swung open to reveal the flies of the Opéra Populaire only a few feet before him. As he walked above the stage, he saw a group of stagehands standing in the wings. As he passed above them in the shadows, he heard a few of their vulgar and highly inappropriate comments about the ballerinas. Erik nearly gave in to the desire to make quick use of the Punjab lasso and end their worthless lives before they knew what happened, but thought better of it. He could not reveal his position and jeopardize Christine. Still, anger coursed through him as comments about Meg Giry reached his hearing. True, the daughter of Madame Giry was not his student, and he had no connection with the ballerina. But he did not wish for Meg to be pursued by the crude, uncivilized stagehands. Erik made another mental note to keep an eye on the crew workers.

As he looked over the edge of the flies to the stage below, he could hear one of the new managers, André, talking with Carlotta. "Your reign at the Opéra Populaire is legendary," André said, flattering the diva. She stood before him in the full Elissa costume, a large crown on her curls, and the train of the red, gold, and green skirt behind her. The Italian _prima donna_ was a larger woman, with determined brown eyes, pale skin, and thick red hair piled elaborately on her head. "It is an honor to meet you, Signora Giudicelli," André said. He kissed her hand, and Piangi stepped forward, an angry look on his face as he put a hand on Carlotta's shoulder. To the tenor's surprise, she swatted his hand away and turned her attention to André. Piangi backed away, hurt. "I was there when you did _Faust_," the manager said. "Your Marguerite-" Firmin coughed loudly to interrupt André's rambling.

"André," Firmin said. "We need to go."

"One moment, Firmin," André said offhandedly, ignoring his business partner. "Could you sing an aria for us? A private audience with you is precious, Signora." Firmin rolled his eyes and drank from his flask.

"Well, I must talk to M. Reyer," Carlotta said, smugly pretending to be hesitant.

"Ah, but I am the manager," André said with a smile. "Reyer answers to me, Signora."

"I think you are forgetting yourself, André," Firmin cut in. "_We_ are the managers." André ignored him.

"Oh, I will sing," Carlotta said, pretending to give in, though everyone but André knew she had been planning to show off the entire conversation. "What would you like me to sing, monsieur?"

"What about an aria from this opera?" André said. "_Denk an mich, Think of Me_, from act one-"

"Act three," Reyer called out.

"Yes, yes," André said. "That one."

A props' assistant approached Carlotta with a silk scarf, and the diva snatched it from the woman without thanking her. The _prima donna_ began to sing warm ups and lip trills to ensure her voice was in working order, and Carlotta moved upstage, chorus members scattering out of her way. Reyer began to play the introduction to the aria on the piano, and Carlotta's soprano filled the auditorium.

"_Denk an mich, von mir liebevoll zu denken, wenn wir Abschied habe_," Carlotta sang. "_Erinnere dich an mich, jeder so oft, versprich mir, Sie werden es versuchen._" As she sang, she approached André and tossed the scarf over his shoulder. She slowly pulled it away, and he reached out to let it trail through his fingers as she moved away. _Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try._

"_An diesem Tag, der nicht so fernen Tages,_" she sang, "_wenn Sie weit weg sind und frei, wenn Sie jemals einen Augenblick, denken Sie einen Moment für mich!_" She strode upstage, chorus members hurrying out of her path. _On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me!_ She turned, eyes fixed on André. "_Denk an mich, der mich herzlich denken_-" Carlotta smiled confidently as her voice rang out_. Think of me, think of me warmly- _

A backdrop suddenly fell inches from where Carlotta stood, and chaos erupted.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, good, bad? I would love to hear what you think! Sorry if the German is confusing. The whole thing between Carlotta and André is from Phantom 25 – I swear, Wendy Ferguson's Carlotta was flirting with Gareth Snook's André. Why use a live elephant, you ask? Live animals are actually used in opera productions, and Andrew Lloyd Webber considered using a real elephant in **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. But imagine having to house an elephant on a tour? Hardly practical. And the liabilities involved if the elephant spooked… Way too much trouble. But, whatever, I decided to use a live elephant in **_**Act I: Hannibal Comes!**_** because I felt like it. Why not? **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Piangi rushed forward to the shrieking Carlotta as the ballerinas screamed. The backdrop was lifted hastily as the Phantom's name was whispered throughout the chorus. Seeing that the new manager were useless, Lefèvre shouted into the wings for Joseph Buquet. The chief of the flies stepped forward from the wings, holding a severed rope. "I don't know what happened," Buquet said. "I wasn't up there-"

"Then where precisely were you?" Lefèvre demanded, furious.

Buquet ignored the question. "I found this, monsieur," he said, holding the rope aloft. It had been severed with a knife; there was no possibility that it had merely frayed. Someone had deliberately cut the rope.

Carlotta stood, infuriated. Piangi tried to calm her, but she ignored him, striding up to the new managers. "This is your fault!" she shrieked. "I refuse to sing this opera! Find yourselves a new diva!" She began to storm offstage, André following.

"Prima donna, wait!" he cried. "It was an accident, simply an accident!"

"An _accident_?" Carlotta cried, whirling to face the manager. André took a step back as she moved towards him, furious beyond belief. "You call that an accident? You have not been here as long as I, monsieur! For the past three years, some-" she swore in Italian, "-has been trying to ruin my career! Well, La Carlotta will not be humiliated any longer! I am leaving!" she declared. Carlotta spat at André's feet, snapped her fingers, saying, "Ubaldo! _Andiamo_!" and swept offstage, feigning tears.

Piangi paused at the wings and looked back at the managers. "Amateurs," he said, and followed Carlotta.

In the silence that followed, Lefèvre patted André on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said. "The Opéra Populaire is in your hands now. Visit me in Frankfurt, won't you?" He left, making his way through the crowd of ballerinas.

"What will we do, Firmin?" André said with a groan, running a hand over his face.

"Get Carlotta back," Firmin replied as if that were the most obvious solution.

"She will not be returning for some time, messieurs."

Madame Giry stepped forward, holding her cane. She was tall and thin, with black hair in a serviceable bun. She wore a long, plain black dress, her features pale and firm. Her dark eyes bored into the new managers, daring them to challenge her. André was enough of a fool to do so.

He laughed. "Of course she will return," he said. "Go back to ballet." Madame Giry's eyes flashed.

"I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost." At the mention of the Phantom, the ballerinas began whispering fearfully among themselves.

Now it was Firmin's turn to mock Madame Giry. "Opera Ghost," he said with a laugh. "There is no ghost in this opera house."

"Can you be certain of that, monsieur?" Madame Giry said in a warning tone. The managers quieted, and she continued as if speaking to a foolish ballerina. "The Opera Ghost has asked me to welcome you to _his_ opera house," she said, making it clear that the Phantom was in control.

"What is this nonsense about Box Five?" André said. "Lefèvre mentioned that it hadn't been sold in years."

"It has been in the use of the Opera Ghost, monsieur," Madame Giry replied. "Only a fool would sell a haunted opera box." She made it clear by her tone that she believed André and Firmin to be fools to ever attempt to own an opera house, especially the Opéra Populaire.

Ever practical, Firmin said, "Lefèvre also said something about his salary-"

"Twenty thousand francs a month, monsieur," she replied matter-of-factly. Firmin paled.

"How can we afford that?" he exclaimed. "Why does a ghost need money? I hardly think-"

"The new patrons, the Chagnys," André cut in. "The brothers, the Comte and Vicomte." At the mention of Chagny, Christine looked up sharply. "With their patronage, surely we can afford to keep a ghost happy."

"You have much more to worry about than to merely keep a ghost _happy_," Madame Giry said ominously.

Desperately trying to take control of the situation, André blurted out, "The opera! Carlotta's replacement! This gala will not happen without her!" He looked frantically to Madame Giry, putting a hand on her arm. She lifted her arm out of his grasp as he continued. "Surely, there is an understudy-"

"Carlotta did not have understudies," Reyer said. Everyone but the managers knew that Carlotta refused for anyone to share the limelight. Understudies were out of the question with the diva.

"Is there anyone else who can sing it?" André said, exasperated.

"Christine Daaé, monsieur!"

André and Firmin turned to see a blonde ballerina pulling her dark-haired friend forward. "A dancer?" Firmin scoffed. "Impossible! We need a diva, not a ballerina!"

"She's been taking voice lessons, monsieur," Meg said defiantly. "He's a great teacher, and he taught her-"

André interrupted. "How could a ballet rat afford a 'great' teacher?" he said mockingly. "Who is he, girl?" André said.

She hesitated. "I don't know, sir…"

"Daaé?" Firmin said. "Are you related to the violinist Daaé? The one who died a few years ago?"

She nodded, a pained expression coming into her gray eyes. "My father, sir."

"Just because she's related to a dead violinist doesn't mean she can sing opera!" André exclaimed. Christine looked away, and Meg moved forward to comfort her friend as Madame Giry approached the managers.

"Be careful what you say," the ballet instructor said. "That man was a great violinist. More importantly, he was the father of the girl who could save your gala. Do not speak ill of the dead, monsieur."

"How could _she_ save the gala?" André said. "Dance for three hours?"

"André," Firmin said in a warning tone. "Calm yourself. Just let her sing."

"Let her _sing_? But-"

"She has been well taught," Madame Giry said.

There was a moment of tense silence. Madame Giry and Firmin glared at André; Christine could not even look at the managers. André sighed, giving in. "Fine, let her sing." Meg ran to find the props' assistant to retrieve the scarf as Madame Giry approached Christine.

"You don't have to sing if you don't want to," the ballet mistress said.

"I'll sing," Christine said quietly. "For the Angel."

Madame Giry put a hand on Christine's cheek in a rare show of affection for the girl she had raised alongside her own daughter. "Yes, sing for him," she said with a faint smile. Meg returned with the scarf, encouraging her friend. Christine turned and look at the managers. Reyer began to play the introduction to _Denk an mich_.

"From the beginning of the aria, then, mam'selle!"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I really have no idea why André is being such a jerk… I can't believe I stretched out a five minute dialogue scene into two chapters. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The lyrics of **_**Think of Me**_** in this chapter are the Las Vegas version. Sierra Boggess sang this version in Las Vegas and in Phantom 25.**

* * *

Christine clutched the scarf as she began to sing. "_Denk an mich, von mir liebevoll zu denken, wenn wir Abschied habe_…" Her voice was nearly crippled by nerves. Her gray eyes darted about, and she fought to keep from shaking. _Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye._ Christine felt as if every person in the world had stopped to stare at her. "_Erinnere dich an mich, jeder so oft, versprich mir, Sie werden es versuchen._" She looked at Meg and the managers, whishing that the stage would open up beneath her and save her from embarrassment. _Remember me, every so often, promise me you'll try_. Madame Giry banged her cane on the stage, and Christine's head snapped around to meet the ballet instructor's gaze. Her voice cracked.

"Firmin, this is pointless," André muttered.

"Don't fret, André," Firmin said.

"Sing for him, Christine," Madame Giry said so only the ballerina could hear her.

Christine straightened, bringing the scarf around her shoulders. "_An diesem Tag, der nicht so fernen Tages,_" she sang, her voice raising in volume and confidence, "_wenn Sie weit weg sind und frei, wenn Sie jemals einen Augenblick, denken Sie einen Moment für mich!"_ Madame Giry nodded in approval. _On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me!_

Christine continued to sing the aria, her voice ringing through the auditorium. She hit every note with ease and perfect control. The chorus was silent, and even the stagehands paused to listen. Her voice did not have the power Carlotta had honed after years of experience, but many commented that Christine possessed the voice of an angel. Reyer noted her excellent vibrato, and wondered who her vocal tutor could be. André admitted to Firmin that the chorus girl was quite good; Meg stood apart from the other ballerinas, overjoyed for her friend's success. Madame Giry nodded in approval and looked to Box Five.

Christine triumphed.

* * *

Once the initial shock of being chosen to sing as Elissa in the promotional gala for _Hannibal_ had passed, Christine discovered that being the temporary diva of the Opéra Populaire had its drawbacks.

Her Angel made her rehearse the songs that she would sing in the gala countless times, making sure every note was effortless. Madame Giry taught her the choreography required for Elissa, and she practiced for hours. The seamstresses of the opera house scrambled to alter Carlotta's costume to fit Christine, and she was subjected to standing still for an eternity while they pinned the heavy silk. The wooden head that she would carry was heavier than she expected, and she dropped it once in rehearsals. The crown that Carlotta had worn was twice as heavy as the headdress Christine had worn as a slave girl, and every time she wore it, Christine felt as if she would topple over from the weight. The seamstresses did the best they could with Carlotta's costume, but it was still too big in the chest, and she was constantly having to pull up the plunging neckline. The jewelry that she wore as Elissa was heavy, weighing her down even more. And she was still intimidated by the elephant.

One good thing about being a diva was that she was given a private dressing room. She had expected to use Carlotta's room, but instead was given the use of a long-forgotten dressing room in a corner of the Opéra Populaire. The managers clearly were not willing to spend a large amount of money on their temporary diva, and it took her a few extra moments to run between her dressing room and the stage. However, Christine was grateful all the same. It was a bit dusty, with few but rather fine furnishings; a full-length mirror stood on the back wall. Late at night, she would have the opportunity to have lessons with the Angel in relative privacy; a much preferred change from the busy chorus girls' dressing room.

Literally overnight, Christine was transformed from ballerina to prima donna. As her dresser, Manon Poirier, an older woman who had served as the star dresser for Carlotta and the divas before the Italian for decades, finished lacing up the elaborate gown, Christine was struck by the enormity of what she was about to do. She, a nameless chorus girl only the night before, was now about the sing for thousands in the promotional gala of _Hannibal_. If she performed well – and providing Carlotta did not return – Christine would be chosen to perform as Elissa for the full run of the production.

It was a terrifying thought.

Manon went to the door, and Christine said, "Tell them I'll be there in a moment." She smiled to her dresser, and Manon left. Christine waited a moment, and then said softly, "Angel?"

"Yes, Christine?"

She sank onto the stool before her vanity, and put her head in her hands, suddenly nervous. "I don't know if I can do this, Angel," she confessed.

"I have faith in you, my Christine. If you have an angel watching over you, then you have nothing to worry about."

"What if I go out there and forget the words? What if-" Christine said, but the Angel of Music interrupted her.

"Do not fear, Christine. The Angel of Music has you under his wing."

* * *

Christine stood in the wings, holding the wooden head by thin strips of leather that served in the place of hair. The elephant shifted nervously a few feet behind her as the animal wrangler tried to calm it, and Christine adjusted the heavy crown. As the _Hannibal_ overture began, Christine scanned the audience from her vantage point in the wings. Thousands of people filled the auditorium, but the lights had been arranged in such a way that she could make out only a few faces in the front row. Christine forced herself to breathe as she stepped onstage.

And then her nerves fell away.

She was not Christine Daaé, chorus-girl-turned-prima-donna. She was Elissa, queen of Carthage and exiled princess of Tyre. The audience saw her defiance of Rome, her love for her city of Carthage, and her passion for her lover Hannibal. Her voice rose to incredible heights with ease, her acting heartfelt and heartbreakingly realistic. The great choral scene, in which Elissa welcomed Hannibal to Carthage, went without a hitch; the ballerinas were even able to mask their fear of the elephant. Then the stage cleared, and Christine was left alone for Elissa's grand aria.

The day before when she auditioned to replace Carlotta, she had been tense and anxious as she tried to impress the managers. Now, Christine was confidence itself. She strode across the stage, gray eyes sweeping across the audience with assurance in herself, though she was not vain. Her voice soared to rival an angel's song.

"_Und obwohl es ist klar, aber es war immer klar, dass dies nie gemeint war_," she sang, extending her arms to the audience as if to plea with them not to forget her. "_Wenn Sie jemals einen Moment inne und denken Sie an mich_." She turned and went downstage, singing with brilliant vibrato and clear tone. _And_ _though it's clear, though it was always clear, that this was never meant to be. If you ever find a moment, stop and think of me._

"_Denken Sie an August, als die Welt noch grün! Nicht etwa, wie die Dinge gewesen sein könnte denken!_" She trailed the scarf over her shoulder and let it trail behind her as she sang. She brought the scarf to her cheek and paused for a moment, letting the notes and words flow from her. _Think of August when the world was green! Don't think about the way things might have been!_

Straightening, Christine crossed downstage center, a smile on her lips. "_Denk an mich, von mir wachen, stillen denken und resigniert. Eine Hochzeit zu dritt, zu stark versucht, Ihnen aus meinem Kopf gestellt._" She brought the scarf around her shoulders. _Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind._ Looking out at the audience, she looked up into the sea of faces in the darkness. "_Denk an mich, bitte sagen Sie von mir denken, was Sie sonst noch zu tun, zu wählen. Es wird nie ein Tag, wenn ich nicht an dich zu denken sein!_" Christine clasped her hands together, the silk cool between her fingers.

Whirling away, she threw the scarf across her neck and glided across the stage as the interlude began. A smile formed on her lips as the audience applauded. From the managers' box, a chorus of "Brava! Brava!" rang out, but not from André or Firmin. She did not have time to dwell on her unknown admirer, however, as the interlude ended.

"_Blumen welken, die Früchte des Sommers verblassen, sie haben ihre Jahreszeiten, so auch wir_," she sang, looking up to the managers' box_. Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. They have their seasons, so do we. _She could not make out her admirer in the darkness. "_Aber bitte versprich mir, dass manchmal, werden Sie denken_…" She paused for a moment, and then began to sing the cadenza. _But please promise me that sometimes, you will think… _Her voice soared to incredible heights, reaching every note effortlessly. The audience held its breath as the climax of the cadenza rang out clear and pure. "_Von mir!_" she sang, finishing the aria. _Of me!_ Christine threw the scarf in the air and fell to her knees.

The audience erupted.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The reason I decided to write a random section on Christine's dresser, Manon Poirier, is because there were rumors that Gillian Lynne herself, the original choreographer of PotO, was the onstage dresser for Sierra Boggess during **_**Think of Me**_**, **_**Angel of Music**_**, and even in the interlude before**_** Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again**_** (a dresser is someone who helps an actor/actress change into their various costumes). Obviously, Sierra had a normal dresser backstage, but for PotO as Christine, apparently her onstage dresser was Gillian Lynne. These rumors were false – Gillian Lynne never went onstage during the performance until the grand finale. But it would have been awesome all the same. **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's some Christine/Meg friendship. Daisy Maywood has to be one of my favorite Megs ever (after the original Janet Devenish, of course). I'm going to explore their friendship a bit more. **

**After Phantom 25 came out, there was a joke about Ramin Karimloo as the Phantom and Christine's father in the 2004 film. When Hadley Fraser said to Sierra Boggess in **_**Bravo, Monsieur**_**, "Whatever you may believe, this man, this thing, is not your father!" about Ramin Karimloo, the usual reply by viewers was, "Hadley, he IS Christine's father." **

**This fanfic is musical-based, but the one thing I'm taking from the movie is that Daddy Daaé is based off Ramin (I call Daddy Daaé Charles, not Gustav, to clear up any confusion concerning LND). Since Ramin did both Christine's father and the Phantom, what if Erik looked like Charles? Christine would be more trusting of Erik if he looked like her father. And then there's the idea that Susan Kay came up with, that Christine looked like Erik's mother, Madeleine. **

**Cameras were first utilized in 1826, so they would have cameras by 1881. Read on to discover why this is important…**

* * *

Christine curtsied again and again until she lost count of how many times she acknowledged the audience. The company come out, and the crowd cheered, but when Christine stepped forward to take another curtsy, the audience went to its feet. As the curtain fell, the ballerinas rushed to congratulate Christine, their voices rising and falling like birds. Madame Giry called for the dancers to rehearse, and Meg and Christine slipped away.

They went to her dressing room, laughing and talking about the performance. Christine's gray eyes shone as Manon untied her costume, and the singer stepped out the gown. As Meg spoke rapidly of everything and nothing as Christine put on a long, white dressing gown, tying it around her waist. Meg whirled to face her, golden curls flying.

"Christine Daaé, that was unbelievable! Why do they need Carlotta when they have you?" Before Christine could respond, Meg continued. "You'll become the next prima donna! What if you sing for royalty?"

"Meg!" Christine said with a laugh. "Don't get ahead of yourself!"

"Dream for once, Christine!" Meg said. "You're always so sad and serious! All you ever do is hide out at the cemetery-" Meg faltered. There was a long silence. "Please forgive me," the golden-haired dancer said quietly. "I didn't mean it."

The two young women gazed at the photograph of Charles Daaé on the vanity. It had been taken when Christine's father was fairly young, with black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin; it was easy to see where Christine had gotten her looks. Daaé stood with his prized violin in hand, unsmiling black and white. Christine picked up the picture frame.

"Meg," she said, breaking the silence, "do you remember the stories my father told me?"

Meg shrugged. "Bits and pieces," she said. "That was a long time ago, Christine." They both fell silent, thinking back to the days when they had been closer than sisters. When Daaé had died, Madame Giry had taken in his orphaned thirteen-year-old daughter and raised her alongside her own child. The two friends would whisper late at night, Christine telling Meg dark stories of the North.

"Do you remember the one about the Angel of Music?"

"Yes," Meg said with a small smile. "That was your favorite story."

Christine paused, looking at her closest friend, and decided to trust her. "When my father died, he said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.' I…" She paused. "I have been visited by the Angel." Meg looked at Christine as if attempting to see if her friend was joking. "It's true, Meg!" Christine said quickly. "I used to pray that the Angel would come to me, and he… he has."

"He?" Meg said. "You're sure it's not someone pretending to be an angel?" Neither young women knew how close Meg was to the truth.

"No!" Christine said, shaking her head. "He is the one who helped me become who I am. He paved the way so I could sing in the gala."

"Have you ever met him?" Meg asked, skeptical.

"No," Christine admitted. "But he's with me, Meg. When I'm alone, I can feel his presence ad hear his voice." She clasped Meg's hands in her own. "Try to understand."

"It's a lot to believe, Christine," Meg said.

"Do you remember when I would stay late after ballet practice, waiting until everyone had gone?" Meg nodded in response to Christine's question. "The Angel has been teaching me, late at night."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "So when I lied to the new managers about you being the student of a great teacher, it was actually the truth?" Christine nodded, and Meg continued. "That's why Maman said, 'She has been well taught.' Maman never approved of lying, though she's done it herself. But you both were telling the truth-"

"Meg Giry!"

Both the young women started and turned to see Madame Giry in the doorway. "Why haven't you been in rehearsals?" the ballet mistress said.

"I-" Meg began.

"I brought her with me," Christine said quickly. "It's my fault, Madame."

Madame Giry was silent for a moment. "Meg, go to rehearsals. Now," she said firmly. Meg looked back at Christine for a moment and went to the door. The ballet mistress watched her daughter leave, and turned to Christine. She held out an envelope to the singer, saying, "This is for you."

"Who is it from?" Christine said, taking the envelope.

"He did not give me his name, but he was a nobleman," Madame Giry said. "You have made many admirers because of your performance tonight." Christine looked up, surprised.

"Surely, one performance-"

"Christine," Madame Giry said, eyes serious, "I raised you as my own daughter alongside Meg when your father died. You are almost family to me, though to you, I am just someone who took care of you." As Christine protested otherwise, Madame Giry raised a hand. "That is beside the point." She looked Christine straight in the eye. "Nearly every nobleman in Paris will pursue you. Do not lose your head. They want only one thing from you." Christine blushed faintly but said nothing. "They will hurt you, Christine. Do not attach scandal to your good name."

Madame Giry turned and left without another word. Christine opened the envelope and found a note. Seven words were written in neat, bold hand:

_A red scarf… The attic… Little Lotte… _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Raoul finally makes an appearance! Hadley Fraser is one of my favorite Raouls ever (after Steve Barton, of course). Ramin Karimloo makes a pretty fine Raoul but he practically IS Erik. Michael Crawford gets the award for the most-phantastic-Phantom-in-the-history-of-the-world, but Ramin comes one step behind Michael Crawford.**

**For Philippe de Chagny, I picture Joseph Millson, the original Raoul in the London LND. My fanfic is NOT based off LND, but Joseph gave a brilliant performance. He completely pulled off the Victorian jerk, and still managed to make me feel sorry for him. Madame Firmin is based off Heather Jackson from Phantom 25. And yes, in Phantom 25, they had an actress who may or may not have been Madame André! **

* * *

Laughter filled the staircase leading from the managers' box as André and Firmin exited the opera box in high spirits from the success of the gala. They were followed by a more subdued Madame Blanche Firmin in a dark blue evening gown, her golden hair piled on her head. Georgette Courtmanche, a younger woman with dark hair in pale green dress made in such a way that she could hardly descend the stairs, walked with André, her laughter joining his. The Firmins had tried to get André settled down for years – rather, Firmin's wife would find female companions among her unmarried friends, and her husband would his approval on her most recent choice, but it was hard to tie down Gilles André. Behind the laughing quartet followed the Chagny brothers.

Philippe and Raoul de Chagny were as different as brothers could be. The former, at twenty-six, was four years older than his brother – serious, tall, and thin, but not overly so. He was not one to make declarations of emotions, preferring conversations to be brief, curt, and no longer than necessary. His appearance was always immaculate, his dark hair smoothed back in the Parisian style. He rarely smiled, his long, pale face continuously serious.

Raoul, on the other hand, though series, was not as standoffish as his brother. At twenty-two, he had recently graduated from the Paris University, but was not as pleasure-seeking as his fellow classmates. Raoul was considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Paris, with serious brown eyes, rather attractive features, and light brown hair. Despite his eligibility to marry almost anyone in France, he had had few romantic relationships, and none had lasted long.

"What a triumph!" Firmin said.

"I was worried no one would attend the gala with Carlotta gone, but Mlle. Daaé packed the house," André said. Georgette laughed as if his statement was the wittiest thing she had ever heard. Philippe looked slightly irritated by the hilarity.

"You're rather quiet, vicomte," Firmin said to Raoul.

"Just distracted. My apologies," Raoul said with a polite and brief smile, his words revealing no more than necessary. He did not intend to be rude, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

It was her. It had to have been her. It had had been eight years, nearly a decade since he had seen her last, but that had to have been Christine Daaé.

When he had saved her scarf from the sea, they had been merely children - he had been only fourteen and she was twelve at the time. Now he was viscount of twenty-two and she was an opera singer of twenty. His view of the stage from the managers' box was far away enough that he could not see her clearly, though the opera box was right above the stage. But what he could see, however, was that she had changed. No longer was she an awkward girl with an abundance of curls framing a youthful face; now she was a tall, poised and beautiful woman with a voice to rival angels. The moment she had stepped onto the stage, Raoul recognized her. As he listened to her sing, he found that the innocent friendship they had shared as children was, for him, maturing into something more now that years had passed. He hoped she would return his feelings, but he would not force her into maturing their friendship. If she wished for their relationship to remain as it had been all those years ago, he would not force the issue. After the performance, he had heard many noblemen talking of Christine Daaé. She would have many other suitors to choose from other than him.

As Firmin paused to take a breath after a long explanation of how the funds received from the gala would help the Opéra Populaire, Raoul said, "Shall we congratulate Mlle. Daaé on her performance?" He hoped to be nonchalant, but Madame Firmin and Georgette giving him knowing looks, and even Philippe raised an eyebrow. André and Firmin, on the other hand, were oblivious.

"She certainly deserves it tonight!" Firmin said with a laugh. "Can you believe it, not a single refund…"

As the conversation turned from Christine to money, Raoul's thoughts stayed on the singer. The group went through the halls of the Opéra Populaire to find Christine's dressing room; however, as André and Firmin had only become owners of the opera house the day before, they had no idea where her dressing room was located.

Through frustrated at the inept managers, Raoul hid his irritation as a golden-haired ballerina ran past the group. He called out to her, and when she turned, he recognized her as one of the dancers in _Hannibal_. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, could you direct us to Mlle. Daaé's dressing room?" he asked.

"Of course, monsieur," she said. The dancer, with long blonde curls wearing a white tutu and worn ballet shoes, led them to an unassuming door. "Here you are," she said, dropping a quick polite curtsy.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," Raoul said with a nod. The ballerina gave a quick smile and left. Raoul turned to his companions. "If you do not mind," he said, "this is one visit I would prefer to make unaccompanied."

"Then take this with you, Monsieur le Vicomte," André said, holding out a bottle of champagne. Georgette looked suddenly annoyed.

"No, thank you, monsieur," Raoul said. He did not want Christine to believe that he had anything less than honorable intentions. "If you will excuse me…" He knocked on the door, and as Christine's voice was heard, he went into the room alone.

"Do they know each other?" Madame Firmin asked Philippe as the group returned to the grand staircase of the Opéra Populaire.

"Not that I know of," Philippe said. Unlike his brother, he did not make a connection between the opera singer with the voice of an angel and the girl with the red scarf from years ago.

* * *

Raoul paused in the doorway. Christine sat facing away from him, gazing into a mirror as she removed a crown from the long, dark curls that fell nearly to her waist. As she lay the costume piece on the desk before her, Raoul said, "Christine Daaé, where is your red scarf?"

"Monsieur?" she said. Christine turned, and for a moment, did not recognize him.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten," he said with a smile. "I was the boy who ran into the sea to fetch your scarf. It's been quite a few years, yes, but I don't look that much different, do I?" As he spoke, realization crept over her features as she remembered him. Christine sprang to her feet, gray eyes shining.

"Raoul!" she cried. "I can't believe it's you!" Impulsively, she embraced him, smiling. They were both suddenly aware of how close they stood, and she took a step back, blushing faintly.

"It's been far too long, Christine," Raoul said sincerely.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a smile.

"I came to the performance," he said. "You sang beautifully tonight." She blushed at his compliment. "You've changed, Christine. Imagine, Little Lotte, an opera star!"

She laughed. "I'm only the temporary cover until Carlotta returns." As she spoke, Raoul noticed the change in Christine. She was tall, with a slender figure and graceful limbs. She possessed high cheekbones, smooth features, flawless pale skin, lips that were full but not overly so, and expressive gray eyes. Her long brown curls fell around her slender shoulders, reaching nearly to her waist. Christine wore a long white dressing gown that accented her slender figure.

"How did you become Carlotta's replacement?" he asked.

Though his question was intended to harmless, Christine paused, growing serious. "Raoul, you are a dear, old friend to me," she said, and laughed mirthlessly. "They'll think I'm mad… Yes, it's been a few years, but I know I can still trust you…"

"Of course, Christine," Raoul said.

She approached the vanity, and picked up a picture frame. Raoul recognized Charles Daaé in the photograph as Christine spoke. "Do you remember the stories my father told us when we were young?"

"Do you remember the one about the Angel of Music?"

Raoul nodded. "The Angel of Music went to Little Lotte as she slept. He bestowed upon her an unearthly voice, beautiful enough to rival the angels."

"And he told her that if she forgot him, he would take away her voice. And then she did forget," Christine said.

"And she could never sing the same way again, Raoul finished. They both were silent for a moment.

"My father died when I was thirteen," Christine said suddenly. "He promised me that he would send the Angel of Music when he went to heaven." She paused for a brief moment, as if steeling herself against a negative reaction. "I believe that my father has sent me the Angel of Music."

Raoul was silent for a moment, and Christine clearly took his silence to mean that he did not believe her. "You must think I'm mad…" she said, turning away from him to place the picture frame of her father on the vanity.

Raoul put a hand on her arm, and she turned back to face him. "I don't think that," he said sincerely. "Christine, please forgive me. You're not mad." She gave him a small smile but said nothing. Raoul began to continue, but a knock sounded on the door.

"Christine-" Madame Giry stopped in the doorway, seeing Raoul. He immediately let go of Christine's arm. "I didn't know you had a visitor. Forgive me." As she left, Christine took a step towards the door.

"Madame Giry…" she said, but the ballet mistress was gone.

"Christine," Raoul said, "will you come to dinner with me?"

"Dinner?" she said, eyebrows raised. "I don't know if I can. The Angel of very strict-"

"I'll get you back here in a couple hours," he said, going to the door. "Don't worry."

"Raoul-"

"It's just dinner," he said with a smile. "I'll give you time to change. I'll be back in two minutes, Little Lotte." He left and shut the door behind him.

Christine had certainly changed.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: In Phantom 25, Hadley Fraser brought Sierra Boggess a rose instead of champagne in the Little Lotte scene, which I prefer much more than the usual champagne. Bringing alcohol makes Raoul's intentions seem less… honorable. Of course Raoul would never have anything less than honorable intentions, but still. **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: In this chapter, there will be slight influences of the 2012 re-imagined UK tour of PotO. In the tour, you see the full descent into the lair, and none of the title song is recorded (except for the high notes at the end) – the Phantom and Christine sing the entire song live, including the beginning, which is traditionally recorded. I've only seen the trailer for the 2012 UK tour, and I doubt I will ever see the tour. But still. **

**About the mirror bride-doll – in Phantom 25, there was no mirror bride. She just fainted for no reason. I understand why they didn't have the mirror bride, because it was too big of a set piece to move through the tiny wings of the Royal Albert Hall. They had hardly any wing space for Phantom 25. But in my fanfic, I'm putting the mirror bride back in. **

**Also, about Raoul not coming into the dressing room until Christine and the Phantom are gone through the mirror… In Phantom 25, they had Ramin Karimloo sing the entire "I am your Angel of Music/Come to me, Angel of Music…" etc., etc. line without Hadley Fraser rudely interrupting and pounding on the door of the dressing room. There was no dressing room, so there was no door. _And_ you got to hear Ramin sing the entire thing, which was amazing as usual.**

* * *

Christine debated with herself, and then flung open the door, crying, "Raoul!" But he was nowhere in sight. Going to her vanity, she put her head in her hands. _He probably thinks I'm mad_, she thought despairingly. Thoughts of Raoul flew from her mind, however, as she felt her Angel's presence fill the room. Her head shot up, gray eyes wide as dread filled her.

"Christine."

In one word, she could hear his anger. He had been angry with her before, but never like this. "Angel," she said desperately, "it's not what you think-"

"Did you think you could hide it from me?" the Angel said in a dangerous tone, furious. "Did you think I wouldn't guess? Did you think I wouldn't know?"

"Angel, it's not like that-" Then he spoke the words Christine dreaded to hear:

"Have you forgotten your Angel?"

"Never!" she cried. She could not have him leave, not now. If he left, she would lose her voice forever, as the tale of the Angel of Music dictated. Christine knew it was just a story, but it was beginning to feel all too real.

But he continued as if she had not spoken. "Have you forgotten all I have done for you?"

"No!" Christine said desperately. She knelt before the mirror from where it seemed his voice was emitting, pleading. "Don't leave me, Angel! I'll do anything!"

There was a long moment of silence as Christine waited for him to reply, terrified that he had left her. Then her Angel began to sing.

It was a wordless melody filled with longing. His intoxicating voice enveloped her, and she surrendered to the power of the music. His voice filled her, controlling her, letting her soul soar. His presence surrounded her, and she closed her eyes, breathless from the sheer power of his voice. Christine opened her eyes to see a figure in the full-length mirror. He towered above her kneeling form, the right half of his face covered in a white porcelain mask. His dark hair was swept back, his handsome features pale, and his dark eyes gazed into hers. She felt as if she were drowning in his gaze.

Christine stood, gazing at the figure in the mirror. She gasped as the glass opened, and the man extended a hand to her. She saw his face clearly, and realized with a start that he looked almost exactly as her father had before he died. "Father?" she breathed.

"I am your Angel of Music," the man corrected her. She saw he wore a long black coat, an immaculate suit, and a black fedora that threw his face into shadow. "Come to me," he said in a rich, melodious voice. He began to sing again, and she could not risk obeying as his voice took control of her. Christine put her hand in his, and he led her through the mirror, extending an arm and covering her in his cloak.

Raoul came to Christine's dressing room door and knocked. There was no reply. He tried the door handle, and it opened.

"Christine!"

There was no one in the room.

* * *

Christine let herself be led by her Angel as cool darkness closed in around them. He lit a lantern, and the flame shed light in a circle around them. She could see nothing outside the ring of illumination, but trusted that her Angel would keep her safe. They walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Without even turned to look at him, she could feel his presence, strong and commanding. He held her wrist in firm but not fierce grip, his skin cool against her wrist. They turned a corner, and Christine gave a small scream of shock, feeling suddenly ill.

There were stories of catacombs, filled with skeletons, beneath the opera house, but Christine never believed they were true. The sight was gruesome- grinning skulls gazed at her through empty eye sockets, bones piled together. The Angel stepped close to Christine as she stood silent in horrified shock."Do not fear, my Christine," he said. He began to sing, leading her past the catacombs. As they left the grisly sight behind, she surrendered to his voice, replacing the horrifying image with the sight of her Angel. She willing let his voice penetrate her, letting it enter and fill her mind. _The Phantom of the Opera is here inside my mind…_

He led her to the edge of a dark lake, a thin veil of mist covering the surface of the water. An elaborate gondola was tied to small dock, and the Angel held out his hand to help her down the steps. She paused, looking back the way they had come, but the Angel put his fingertips on her chin, bringing her gaze from the passageway and back to him. "Come, Christine," he said in his rich, melodious voice that captivated her. He began to sing once more, another wordless melody, and she stepped into the boat, kneeling at the bow. The Angel entered the gondola behind her, gripping the pole, and they began to cross the lake.

Christine watched in wonder as they approached an island. Candelabras lined the isle, shedding light in the darkness. A huge pipe organ dominated the space, sheets of music scores piled nearby. Securing the boat, the Angel helped Christine to her feet, and she stepped onto the mysterious island. "This is where you live?" she said quietly, as if speaking louder would make the island and the Angel disappear. He nodded, removing his cloak and fedora as Christine approached the organ. She saw a large stack of sheet music bearing the title _Don Juan Triumphant_. "What is this?" she asked, brushing her fingertips over the pages.

"My opera," he said, coming to her side. "I have written it for you, my Christine."

"For me?" she said, looking up at him. Their eyes met, and she felt slightly breathless at the intensity of his gaze.

"It is not complete, but it will be a masterpiece," the Angel promised.

"Will you play it for me?"

"You are not ready for _Don Juan_."

"I will hear it once it is complete if I am to sing it," Christine said, leaning towards him. She was suddenly aware of how close she stood to him. Christine gazed into his eyes, and once again felt as she were drowning in his impossibly dark gaze. She reached up to his face, her fingertips brushing the porcelain mask.

The Angel suddenly gripped her wrist as she touched his mask, and she stepped away from her. The tension between them was palpable as they gazed into each other's eyes. Christine fought to control her breathing.

The Angel released his hold on her wrist. "If _Don Juan_ is what you want to hear, then I will play it for you." He brushed past her, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

From the first chord, the music consumed her. The score was nearly dissonant, but had a powerful melody that flowed through Christine, possessing her. Two melodies weaved throughout the music, and she ached for resolution. Finally, the two strands of melody at last entwined, and her soul seemed to burn with the passion of the music. The Angel finished playing, and they gazed at each other. Christine was left breathless from the power of the music.

"When will your opera be complete?" she asked, trying to release the hold the music had had on her.

"Very soon," the Angel said. "I will eventually teach you the part of Aminta, the role I am writing for you. But first I must ensure your voice is healthy after the gala before you attempt _Don Juan_."

They returned to the tutor-student arrangement. The Angel worked on extending Christine's range, and she sang high than ever before. But now something else, another dynamic, had been added to their relationship. Christine could not name it, but they were not merely teacher and pupil any longer. The Angel could control Christine with his voice, leaving her breathless and yearning to hear him sing once more. When he sang, it was as if she became willing to hand over her soul to him. She could hardly control her emotions or thoughts, and she could not fight the dark beauty of the music. She felt, heard, sensed, and _lived_ as she had never lived before. The Angel awoke emotions in Christine that she had never thought possible.

And that terrified Christine.

As they finished the lesson, her gaze left the music and scanned the room. In a corner stood a large shape hidden in shadow. Setting down the music on the organ, she approached the shape. As she moved closer, she found herself gazing at a large mirror frame with pieces of broken glass on the edges, as the center of the mirror had been broken long ago. A much more disturbing sight than a broken mirror greet Christine, however, as she found herself face-to-face with herself.

A wax figure stood before her. It was a perfect replica of Christine, with the same high cheekbones and brown curls that tumbled around its shoulders. It was clad in a beautiful white wedding gown, a veil on its curls and dried bouquet of flowers in its hands. Christine reached out to brush her fingertips against its cheek. The wax figure suddenly thrust its hands towards her, and Christine, startled, took a step back. She looked at the Angel, and she suddenly realized the connection between the wax figure in the wedding gown and the reason her Angel brought her to their dark place where music reigned.

He wanted to marry her.

Christine fainted.


End file.
